


Your Absence Ringing In My Ears

by madasthesea



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Not a death fic, partial magic reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No. He’s not dead.” Of that, Merlin was certain. He had more cause than most to wonder what would happen if Arthur were to die, and he knew without a doubt that the world would not feel the same without Arthur in it. </p><p>"And I'm going to find him, whether you believe me or not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Absence Ringing In My Ears

Gaius had kicked him out of his chambers after the first two hours of pacing and frantic muttering. So Merlin had spent the past hour alternating between sitting on the castle’s front steps and limping in circles in front of them.

Arthur and fourteen knights had ridden out to intervene in some skirmishes in a border village that had been reported to the king. Merlin, whose leg had been fractured a few weeks previously in an unfortunate accident involving a stampeding horse, a cart left in the middle of the street, and a five year old girl, had been strictly forbidden from coming. That never would have stopped him normally, and he had had every intention of accompanying the prince, but Gaius had slipped a sleeping drug into his evening meal, and by the time Merlin had awoken, the group was long gone. He was even prevented from following, as he had no idea where the village was and no skill in tracking.

So, furious at Gaius in a way he’d rarely been before and short-tempered from pain and worry, he’d spent four of the five days that Arthur was scheduled to be gone locked away in his chambers and avoiding everyone. The fifth day he had painstakingly climbed to the tallest tower and had kept watch, waiting for signs of movement. There hadn’t been any. He’d slept fitfully that night, and when he learned that Arthur had still not returned that morning, he had reached a state of panic Gaius deemed was unhealthy. Which left him here, sitting on the sun-heated steps, chewing at his fingernails, eyes fixed on where he prayed Arthur would appear any moment.  

“Something’s gone wrong,” was all he said when Gwen came and sat next to him. Then he got up and paced some more.

Gwen had long since left by the time the sound of hooves could be heard. Merlin grabbed the crutch Gaius insisted he use and hobbled further into the courtyard to meet them. Fourteen horses erupted into the plaza, one less than what they had left with, and two of them were riderless. The mayhem of their arrival made it impossible to see each rider, but Merlin could see that a certain blond head was missing from the group of knights. With a pit in his stomach, he limped as fast as he could to where Leon was dismounting.

“Where’s Arthur?” he asked before Leon’s feet were even firmly on the ground. The knight’s shoulders drooped and when he didn’t turn to face Merlin, he repeated his question, desperation creeping into his voice.

Leon turned, his face dirty, his hair bloody, and his eyes shining with guilt and pain. But Merlin had no sympathy for him, friends though they may be, and stepped closer.

“What happened? Where is he?” He demanded, voiced pitched dangerously low. His heart was pounding in his ears, his lungs couldn’t get quite enough air.

“We were coming back from the village, everything had gone faster than we had expected. But as we were coming back, something… someone must have drugged us. One minute it was day and we were riding, the next it was night and we were all tied up and surrounded by mercenaries. Arthur cut the ropes, the men hadn’t taken the knife in his boot, and we all fought. There were so many that Arthur told us to just get to the horses and get out, so we ran. They had crossbows and managed to take down a couple knights, but we thought we’d gotten out without a problem. It wasn’t until a few minutes later we realized Arthur wasn’t there.”

Merlin gritted his teeth. If he had been there, he never would have taken his eyes off the prince. He would have made sure Arthur got away first. He felt the presence of more knights around him, drawn by the scene Merlin was sure he’d caused. He didn’t turn to look at them.

“We turned back to look for him. We went back to where we’d woken up and followed the men’s trail, assuming they’d taken him. It led to a cliff by a river… There’d obviously been a fight, there was blood everywhere and-“ Leon cut off, but continued when Merlin stepped even closer. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. His cape was there, it was soaked with blood. The tracks seemed to suggest that they’d thrown him over the cliff, probably because he was causing so many problems. We searched until dark, but we only found his sword. There is… Merlin, there’s no way he survived.”

Leon pulled a long package from the back of his saddle and offered it to Merlin. It was Arthur’s sword, wrapped lovingly in his Camelot red cape, still damp from being cleansed of blood in the river. Merlin shook his head violently, even as he hugged the bundle to his chest.

“No,” Merlin said simply, honestly confused how Leon could say that. “He’s not dead.” Of that, Merlin was certain. He had more cause than most to wonder what would happen if Arthur were to die, and he knew without a doubt that the world would not feel the same without Arthur in it. He shoved Arthur’s things back into Leon’s arms.

“Merlin,” Gwaine said, his arm coming up to wrap around Merlin’s shoulders. He looked so sad, and Merlin wanted to shake that expression of his face. Now was not the time for sorrow, but for anger and action. Arthur needed them.

“No! We have to ride out, we have to find him,” Merlin said, shrugging off Gwaine’s arm and limping toward the stable.

“Merlin, there’s no point!” Gwaine called out after him. _There’s no point looking for a dead man_ is what his tone said, and Merlin whirled, furious and a little disgusted that they were all willing to give up so easily.

“ _He’s not dead!_ ” Merlin roared, ignoring the many people that stopped to stare, that began looking around the courtyard and realizing who they hadn’t seen come home. _“I would feel it!”_

The Knights of the Round Table looked at each other, grief and desperation heavy in each of their expressions, but Merlin didn’t wait for them to say anything, just continued to move forward as quickly as he could. Gwaine ran forward and caught his arm, the other knights following behind.

“Merlin, mate, I understand-“

“No, you don’t understand,” Merlin hissed yanking his arm away and meeting all their sympathetic eyes with undisguised vehemence. “Half of my soul resides in him. I would feel his loss as keenly as a wound. _He is not dead._ ”

They all blinked in surprise at Merlin’s declaration, not understanding the truth of his words.

“And I’m going to find him, whether you believe me or not.” He stalked off, glowering at anyone that got in his way.

Gwaine sighed. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

 

They had been riding for less than half an hour when Merlin stopped, dismounted, and knelt on the forest floor.

Gwaine stopped his horse as well, looking at Merlin, then his horse, as if to ask it was its rider was doing. It shook its mane in a way that reminded Gwaine of an annoyed Arthur, then munched some grass.

“Uh, mate? What are you doing?” He asked, dismounting himself, wondering if maybe the impact of Arthur’s death was just barely hitting him and he was unable to continue riding from grief.

“Sorry you had to find out like this,” was all Merlin said, his voice even, if not a little wary. Then his eyes turned gold, one palm pressed to the ground.

Gwaine watched, fascinated, but not overly surprised, until the glow faded from his friend’s eyes. Merlin stood, brushed off his hand, then informed Gwaine that Arthur was two days hard ride away and that they needed to be there by the next morning. “He won’t last much longer,” Merlin said, and Gwaine didn’t mention the way his voice caught on the words.

“Our horses can’t get there that fast,” was all Gwaine said, and Merlin seemed grateful that he hadn’t said anything about the magic. He walked to the horses, putting a hand on each, and his eyes flashed again as he muttered a spell.

“They won’t tire as fast now,” he explained, then mounted and kicked his mare into a gallop. Gwaine leapt onto his own mount and followed.    

 

Even magically enhanced horses needed to rest, and Gwaine had had to physically force Merlin to stop to give them a break after a few hours. Gwaine watched as Merlin fidgeted where he sat. His leg was obviously hurting him, but he didn’t complain, and he was full of a manic, desperate energy. Gwaine was glad he had come, knowing that Merlin would have run himself into the ground in order to reach Arthur that much sooner.

His mind was still trying to absorb the information that Arthur was alive, probably captured, and his most loyal knights, his _friends_ , had given up their search. He felt the guilt of it swirling in his stomach, and the bread he had pulled out for them to eat was not at all appealing. In order to distract himself, he turned his attention to the newly revealed sorcerer a few feet away. He had plenty of questions to ask, but he wasn’t sure Merlin would want to answer.

“You only have half a soul?” Gwaine found himself asking, and then screwed up his face a bit, because he had not intended to ask _that_ , not today, now with Merlin so tense. But Merlin’s declaration from earlier had been occupying his thoughts for a good portion of their ride and his curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of him.

“What? Oh,” Merlin said, looking at a flower a few inches from him, his fingers taping anxious patterns on his knee. Gwaine thought for a moment that that was all he would say, but he drew his breath in to continue, making a confused face. “I’m not really sure. I know Arthur and I are two halves of a whole.” He rolled his eyes a bit, but Gwaine didn’t get the joke. “And I know we… we either have two souls and they are connected, and have been since the beginning of time. Or we have one soul between the two of us.”

Merlin’s eyebrows were drawn down, like he wasn’t satisfied with that answer but couldn’t find another. When he glanced up at Gwaine, who was watching him with his mouth slightly open, he rubbed his temples like he was getting a headache.

“I don’t really understand it, not completely, but I was created _for_ Arthur. His birth caused mine, literally, and it is because of him that I was given my powers. It is my destiny to protect and guide him. It’s all rather complicated,” he sighed, and then heaved himself off the ground and took a few limping steps toward Gwaine. “I need you to promise me that you won’t tell Arthur about the magic.”

Gwaine looked startled and said quietly “I promise, Merlin. I would never betray your trust like that.”

Merlin smiled, his first honest smile since Arthur had left, and breathed out a relieved thanks. Then he turned on his heel, proclaiming that the horses had rested long enough, and mounted. They rode hard, following the trail that was only obvious to Merlin.

 

Merlin stopped them when a low, stone fortification came into sight. It was early morning and the entire valley was covered in swirling mist. They’d ridden through the night, stopping only twice more for the horses to rest, and they’re flanks were foamy with sweat by the time the reins  were being tied to low hanging branches. Merlin pressed his forehead against each of their necks in turn, speaking lowly in the language of magic, and Gwaine had a feeling he was thanking them.

Merlin and Gwaine crept to the edge of the forest, where Merlin paused, his eyes closed to hide the glow of his magic from the watchmen.

“There’s five men on watch, another two by the main door. I can’t tell how many are inside.”

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Merlin looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Get Arthur,” he said, then walked out of the forest. Gwaine cursed, drew his sword, and ran after him.

 

It took the guards on the low fortification wall an embarrassingly long time to spot them, and Merlin and Gwaine were almost to the building when the archers were finally assembled. Merlin didn’t seem to be worried, just kept limping along resolutely.

“Merlin…” Gwaine muttered, much less calm with the idea of being shot full of arrows. Someone signaled the archers to fire and a volley of arrows sped towards them. Gwaine seized Merlin’s shoulder, and the man barely glanced up before shouting a few words. The arrows changed suddenly into a flock of small birds, which chirped at them and then flew away. Gwaine stopped, awed by such a display, while Merlin stalked forward. The archers didn’t release another volley, obviously aware that it would do no good.

A group of half a dozen men were gathered in front of the main doors, armed, but looking nervous. They apparently hadn’t expected Gwaine and Merlin to make it past the arrows. Gwaine drew his sword and stepped in front of Merlin once they’d drawn closer.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gwaine,” Merlin said, and stepped around him, raising his hands threateningly. One man, large but not overly muscular, charged at Merlin, yelling. Merlin’s eyes flashed and the man collapsed. The other five roared in anger and ran forward as well. Gwaine sank into a ready stance, thinking that even a sorcerer couldn’t take on five armed men at once. But Merlin just spoke a few words and all five went down like their companion.

Merlin hobbled to the door like nothing had happened, and Gwaine, for the first time since Merlin’s magic had been revealed, felt his stomach knot with unease. Merlin seemed to notice and turned around, looking expectantly at Gwaine.

Something in his expression must have shown his discomfort, because Merlin glanced around at the fallen men and then calmly said, “They’re just asleep, Gwaine.” 

“Oh,” Gwaine said, relaxing and breathing out a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” He smiled broadly at Merlin. He didn’t smile back, just turned around and whispered another spell.

Nothing happened.

“Huh,” Merlin scoffed. “Must be barred. I guess we’ll have to do it the messy way.” He took a couple steps back, than held out his hands and shouted a command, his voice deep and hoarse with power.

The doors burst open, flying off their hinges like they’d been hit with a battering ram, shards of wood spraying everywhere. Merlin turned his head to avoid be hit with a large piece of iron and then went through the door like he had every right to be there. When Gwaine followed, he realized that the metal that almost hit Merlin was the lock on the door, flattened like it’d been run over by a whole herd of horses.

Now, Gwaine had never ripped a door off its hinges and stormed into someone else’s castle before, but he thought there would be more servants cowering in fear and men trying to fight. Instead, whoever they saw just sort of scuttled away trying to look pathetic enough to not be killed. Merlin didn’t even seem to notice, just limped on to the center of the building. Gwaine was about to bring up the lack of resistance when he followed Merlin around a corner and stopped.

There were about twenty-five men, in various amounts of armor, all glaring at them angrily. The corridor was narrow, obviously intending to cause a bottle-neck, allowing only a few of the enemy to come forward at once. As the enemy, he and Merlin, only numbered two people, it was going to be more of a hindrance than a help, but Gwaine appreciated the attempt at strategy.

“Can you do that sleep thing again?” Gwaine asked, leaning over to whisper in Merlin ear. No point giving away information.

“Too many,” Merlin answered, shaking his head a bit.

“Ok, my turn, then,” Gwaine said, feeling a little giddy that he would finally be of use on this mission. He drew his sword, stepped into the center of hall, and offered the men facing them his best grin. “Who wants to go first?”

Two men charged, their shoulders bumping as they raced forward, and then it was all muscle memory and survival instinct. He noticed, as he spun to avoid a slice to his shoulder, that Merlin was working his way through his own string of men; flinging them into walls, sending random fireballs into the mass of soldiers waiting to fight, causing general mayhem. When a man came stumbling too close to him, Merlin caught his face in both hands, his eyes glowing, and the man sank to floor trembling, his eyes rolling back into his head. Together, they fought until the hall was littered with bodies, unconscious or dead, and there was only one man left. A dark pendant hung from the neck of his tunic, marking him as the leader.

Merlin limped toward him, his eyes dark and his mouth twisted into a snarl. Gwaine wondered, as he watched Merlin approach like an animal stalking his prey, if desperation was feeding his anger, if he could feel Arthur’s life slipping away with each second they wasted. The man turned in an attempt to flee, but Merlin held up a fist and he stopped, seeming incapable of moving.

“I have a question for you,” Merlin said quietly, stepping over a body so that he was face to face with the soldier. “And you should know before you say anything, that I will not take kindly to lying.”

The man spat in his face. Gwaine started forward angrily, but Merlin just waved him off, wiping away the saliva with his sleeve. With a twitch of his finger, the man went from being paralyzed in the middle of the floor to slammed against a wall, his boots hanging an inch off the floor.

“You’ve taken someone from me. Someone I love very much,” Merlin hissed, shaking with fury and, Gwaine knew, fear that he would be too late. “If you do not want to see how far I am willing to go to recover him, you will tell me where he is. _Now._ ”

“Turn right, second left, down the stairs, furthest cell,” the man rallied off, all his bravado having fled in the face of Merlin’s rage. Merlin considered him for a second, then nodded, and let him fall. Gwaine walked up and smashed the hilt of his sword over his head and he slumped sideways, unconscious.

Merlin turned and ran, and Gwaine had a feeling his earlier fear was correct. Merlin could feel the thread of Arthur’s life being pulled taught, ready to be cut. He ran after him.

For a man who was meant to be walking with a crutch, Merlin could run surprisingly fast—hurtling around corners so quickly he would almost skid into the walls, flying down the staircase. Gwaine was right on his heels, and could hear him hissing in pain, but neither of them slowed until they were at the last in the block of cells. The door sprang open before they’d even reached it.

 

Merlin dropped to his knees in front of Arthur. The prince was unconscious, his chin on his chest, with both wrists shackled above his head. He’d been stripped of his armor and mail, but his tunic was still on, which meant it was unlikely they’d tortured him. Probably saving that pleasure for whoever had paid them to take him. The left side of his face and neck were covered in blood.

Merlin slid his arms around Arthur, catching him when the manacles sprang open and he slumped forward. He was warm, though not feverish, and the heartbeat that Merlin could feel pounding against his chest was steady. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around Arthur, pressing his cold nose against the pulse in his temple. He could have broken down and started crying right there, just to have Arthur in his protection again making him dizzy with relief, but he restrained himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and let a little of his magic seep into Arthur, just enough to get a sense of his injuries. It didn’t look good.

“He’s got a sprained ankle, several bruised or fractured ribs, three broken bones in his hand, a dislocated shoulder, as well as several cuts and bruises, but the real problem is this cut on his temple. He’s almost certainly concussed, and it’s still bleeding,” Merlin reported to Gwaine, who was shifting anxiously behind him. Gwaine swore.         

“We’ve got to get him out,” Gwaine said, and Merlin, though he didn’t look away from Arthur, could tell he was running a hand through his hair.

Merlin nodded into Arthur’s hair, then began lowering him gently to the ground. “Hold him still, Gwaine. I’ve got to fix that shoulder first.”

Gwaine came and knelt with him, putting his weight on Arthur so he couldn’t jerk and hurt himself more. Merlin pressed a hand to his forehead, whispering a small apology, even as his eyes burned gold and the numbing spell began to take effect. Then, with deft hands, he forced the joint back into place. Arthur moaned and tried to shift in his sleep, but Gwaine held him still.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered again, his attention focused on Arthur’s face.  

“So, can you like… levitate him or something?” Gwaine asked suddenly and Merlin remembered that they still very much needed to get out of here.

“No.”

“Oh.” Gwaine was silent for a second, frowning. “Why not?”

“I don’t know how,” Merlin admitted, shrugging. That particular spell wasn’t in his magic book, and he couldn’t exactly go hunting for it in the castle library. Gwaine huffed a laugh.

“Well, carry him it is. This is going to be fun.”

And carry him they did, with Merlin limping and Gwaine swearing and Arthur’s head bouncing off Merlin’s shoulder every few steps. They ran into a few more guards who had been on the outer wall, but Merlin had just sent them all flying back with a jerk of his chin. Finally, with backs aching and arms shaking from strain, they returned to their horses.

 

It was still early morning, and they decided they’d better get away from the hideout, in case the men who’d been knocked out decided that the money they’d been paid to capture him in the first place was worth the effort of trying to take Arthur again. In order to avoid putting pressure on Arthur’s hurt ribs, he rode in front of Merlin, slumped against his chest.

They rode slowly, trying not to jostle the injured man, and the horses were still tired from their mad dash through the night. After a few minutes of riding, Merlin looked down at Arthur. The injured side of his face was the only one Merlin could see, and he looked garish with his hair and skin caked in dirt and dried blood. The cut just above his temple was still bleeding, which worried Merlin more than the rest of Arthur’s injuries combined.

Rifling through the healing spells he knew, he cupped his hand over the wound. He muttered the words of the best one he could remember, feeling his eyes turn gold with power. Gwaine was looking over his shoulder at them. When he pulled his hand back, the bleeding had stopped and the cut looked smaller. It was probably the best he was going to get. He sent Gwaine a smile to assure him that it had worked and the other man looked relieved.

They rode until midday, when Arthur started showing signs of waking. They set up a quick camp in a small clearing a short distance from their path, Gwaine getting Arthur situated on his own bedroll while Merlin started some water boiling over the fire in Gwaine’s plate from the saddlebags he hadn’t had time to unpack. Arthur didn’t wake up fully until Merlin was finishing wrapping his ribs in strips torn from Gwaine’s red cape.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered. He got a groan in response.

“I know, it hurts. I’m so sorry,” he said softly, and wondered if his voice sounded as pained as he thought it did. “I need you to open your eyes for me, Arthur.” 

The lack of Arthur’s usual retort about servants ordering princes about made Merlin absurdly sad for a moment. _He should have been there._

Arthur, true to form, could not settle for simply cracking one eye open slowly, instead he had attempted to open both eyes wide immediately. Luckily, Merlin had been watching carefully and had covered Arthur’s eyes with his hand before he’d gone and blinded himself.

“Merlin,” Arthur slurred, the exasperated tone completely lost behind the audible pain.

“Sire, you have a concussion. The light is going to hurt. Go slowly.”

He took his hand away once he’d felt Arthur’s lashes flutter closed against his palm. Slowly this time, and still wincing from the sunlight, Arthur opened his eyes and focused on Merlin, hovering over him. As soon as his eyes were open, however, he seemed to have a hard time keeping them that way.

“You can’t sleep quite yet, Arthur,” Merlin said, and Arthur blinked dutifully back up at him. “I just need to check your pupils and give you some water, then you can rest.”

After he had done both of these things, as well as bandaged Arthur’s head wound as best he could and wiped all the blood from his skin, he and Gwaine put out the fire, carefully got Arthur situated back on the horse, and rode on.

 

Merlin woke Arthur a couple times as they rode to check on him. Arthur, who did his best to hide the pain that every movement caused, would stare blearily up at Merlin, drink the water that was forced on him, and then go back to sleep. Merlin wasn’t entirely sure waking him up was being helpful or not, not after such a long time being unconscious, but it reassured Merlin that he _could_ wake up. Despite his words to the knights earlier, when he had seen Arthur slumped and bloody in that cell, he had thought that maybe Arthur _had_ died and he just hadn’t felt it.

They stopped in early evening, and Arthur, who had been awake for the last mile or so, seemed grateful. He didn’t complain once about the pain, but Merlin could hear the groans he bit back. He tried to be gentle as he helped Arthur down from the horse, but even with his caution, the prince was sweaty and pale by the time he was on the ground.

Gwaine set up camp while Merlin tended to Arthur. He also caught a rabbit for dinner using a trap he’d apparently learned in his years of being a traveler. As Merlin watched him turn the spit over the fire methodically, he realized that without Gwaine, his mission to save Arthur might have been a failure. He’d left with no rations, no medical supplies, and no plan. And while he knew he would have gotten to Arthur without a problem, getting Arthur back to Camelot, even carrying him out of the dungeons, would have been nearly impossible.

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, feeling the gratitude well up in his throat, threatening to choke him. Not only had Gwaine been instrumental in saving Arthur, he’d accepted Merlin’s magic and promised he would keep the secret safe. “Thank you.”

Gwaine studied him for a minute and seemed to read the unspoken “for everything” in Merlin’s face. He nodded, then clapped Merlin on the shoulder. “I’d be a pretty poor excuse for a friend if I’d let you come by yourself, all distressed as you were.”

Merlin laughed at the gentle ribbing and swatted at the hand ruffling his hair. Gwaine started telling Merlin about the juggler with no hands he’d met in Cenred’s kingdom a few years back, voice low in order to not worsen Arthur’s headache as he drifted in and out of sleep a few feet away.

Merlin took the first watch of the night, despite half-hearted protests from Gwaine, who was now happily asleep, stretched out on the ground as Arthur was in his bedroll. Merlin settled himself next to Arthur, leaning against a large boulder.

His injured leg was stiff, swollen, and painful. The pain had been easy to ignore while he had a certain prince to save, but now it was making itself known. Gaius would probably be furious with him when he returned. But, with nothing that could be done for it now, Merlin put it out of his mind as best he could.

 

About an hour into his watch, Arthur called his name. Surprised, Merlin scooted himself a little closer and saw that Arthur was indeed awake. He was watching Merlin, looking more alert than he’d been the whole day. Merlin smiled like he’d never seen anything so wonderful in his life. He wasn’t sure he had.

“Hey,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a horse,” Arthur said, a little tersely, and Merlin realized he must have seen Merlin wincing at the pain in his leg. His thoughts were answered when Arthur’s eyes briefly left his to look at the leg he’d broken.

“It’s entirely possible. You certainly look like it,” Merlin joked. Arthur smirked a bit, obviously understanding what Merlin was trying to do, but too tired to push back.

Arthur shifted a bit, then hissed at the pain. Merlin’s hands fluttered helplessly over him, knowing that there was nothing he could do, but desperately wanting to help anyway. Arthur noticed his concern and rolled his eyes a bit, careful not to aggravate his concussion.

“I’m fine, Merlin,” he said.

“You most certainly are not. Your whole left side is bruised or broken in some manner. What’d they do, drag you?” Merlin raged, then wished he hadn’t, because judging by the way Arthur was looking at him, that’s exactly what they’d done. His magic screamed at him to go back and slaughter every single one of them.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered. He blinked the red from his vision and focused back on Arthur’s pained blue eyes. Merlin looked away before Arthur did, his anger draining from him, turning to guilt. If he had been there, this wouldn’t have happened. He sighed, carefully taking Arthur’s unbroken hand in his. Arthur’s grip tightened each time he inhaled and the pain in his ribs flared.

“Arthur. I’m so sorry.” He hung his head over their linked hands, wishing he had the power to turn back time.

“Why? This isn’t your fault,” Arthur said, not exactly gently, but still soft. Merlin had a feeling that if his other hand wasn’t broken, he would have put it on Merlin’s shoulder.

“I should have been there,” Merlin insisted, finally looking Arthur in the eye. “I should have been with you, like I always am.”

“Merlin, they just would have killed you or taken you as well.”

“At least you wouldn’t have been alone,” Merlin whispered. Arthur looked at him for a long time without saying anything. Merlin fought the urge to look away.

“But then who have come and risked their neck to get me out?” Arthur finally asked, and his words were lighthearted, but his voice was unmistakably serious.

“Me,” was the response. “I would have gotten both of us out while you were still catching up on your beauty sleep.” Arthur huffed a laugh, his hand tightening around Merlin’s from the pain of it, his eyes squeezed shut for a second. He had no way of knowing that Merlin was actually more than capable of doing just as he had said.

When he opened his eyes again, Merlin’s brow was wrinkled with concern. Arthur shook his head, just slightly, and Merlin understood the message. There was nothing he could do. Merlin gripped his hand harder.

“Merlin,” Arthur said after a few minutes of shallow breathing. Merlin hummed to show he was listening. “Judging by the fact there’s only two of you, rather than the battalion that would have been sent if Agravaine knew I’d been captured, everyone thought I was dead. Why didn’t you?”

Merlin shrugged, shifting stiffly. He winced when he moved his leg, and Arthur’s thumb stroked twice over Merlin’s knuckles. When he was resettled, he looked back at Arthur, who was staring up at the leafy canopy above them.

“I just felt like a sword and a bloodied cloak weren’t very much proof,” he answered after a long minute. Even as he said it he wondered what Arthur’s reaction would have been if Merlin had been honest.

Arthur turned his head to look at him. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in the warmest smile Merlin had ever seen him wear.

“Thank you, my friend.”

“Always, Arthur.” Arthur nodded, another thanks, and closed his eyes. Merlin didn’t let go of his hand until he was asleep.

 

Merlin was limping around, breaking camp, when Arthur woke up the next morning. Gwaine was sitting on the boulder near him, eating a small piece of bread and trying to shake himself into alertness.

“Morning, Arthur,” Gwaine greeted when he saw his eyes open, then moved over to help him sit up against the boulder.

“Gwaine,” Arthur said when he’d gotten his breath back. “I owe you thanks for coming after me.”

“It was nothing,” Gwaine shrugged. “Let me spend some time with my friend, Merlin. And kill a few mercenary scum in return for what they did to ours.”

“Still, thank you.” Gwaine just nodded. Merlin came over then, checking Arthur’s various injuries and forcing him to drink some water.

“How’s your leg?” Arthur asked, as he had every morning since it’d been broken. Merlin smiled at the familiar question.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Better than your head. And shoulder. And ribs. And-“

“Yes, I get the idea,” Arthur interrupted. Merlin laughed and conceded.

Getting onto Merlin’s horse was an extremely unpleasant experience, and Arthur was grateful he didn’t have to hold himself up on his own. Though he was sure Merlin was tired from having supported him all the previous day, he didn’t complain when Arthur slumped against him, exhausted and woozy from pain.

They’d only been riding for fifteen minutes when they were met by Leon, Elyan, and Percival. They’d been coming to find Gwaine and Merlin, determined to drag them back to Camelot and see sense. Their faces ranged from surprised to downright stunned at the sight of Arthur, not exactly whole and healthy, but alive.

They arrived in Camelot the next morning, Arthur riding behind Leon, despite the pain. Merlin had been rather unwilling to give him up, but Merlin’s poor horse was quite fatigued, and he had eventually agreed. Arthur had never been so glad to get off a horse.

He was fussed over for a long time by Gaius, Merlin hovering behind him, leaning on the crutch he had left. He flushed when Gaius complimented the resetting job of Arthur’s shoulder and the bandaging of his ribs. Arthur was given a bowl of broth, a variety of foul tasting potions, and then sent to bed.

 

Merlin was there when he woke up, his bad leg propped up on Arthur’s bed, though the room was dark with night. His chin was tipped against his chest, sleeping soundly. Arthur watched him until his eyelids fell closed again. 

“How’s your leg?” Arthur asked the next morning.

“How’s your everything?” Merlin countered.

“Touché.”   

 

A week later, Arthur and Merlin were standing watching the knights train. They were quite the sight, Merlin on his crutch and Arthur with his arm in a sling, temple still bruised. Arthur was squinting at Gwaine.

“How’d he do it?”

“What?”

“How did Gwaine beat more than thirty men by himself?” Arthur asked, sounding totally mystified.

“He wasn’t by himself, I was there,” Merlin pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but you weren’t fighting,” Arthur said like it was obvious.

“I’ll have you know I can be very handy with a sword when the time is right.”

“It’s alright, Merlin, I don’t think too much less of you for it,” Arthur said condescendingly.

“I can!” Merlin spluttered.

“Whatever you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Cold is the Night" by The Oh Hello's. The soul discussion was just a bit of a headcanon of mine.


End file.
